The Final Stab
by unset city
Summary: The pain Mrs. Lovett's in can not be assauged. What is poor Mrs. Lovett to do? Todd/Lovett


It was a rainy night, the darkness, so heavy and cold, broken only by brief flashes of electricity, the hiss of the rain disrupted by the shattering of thunder

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sweeney Todd**

**Uh, Mrs. Lovett might be a little OCC in this, Sweeney too, cuz I wanted to explore the darkest side of Mrs. Lovett, and the tender side to Sweeney. After all that Mrs. Lovett puts up with, she has to have some deep pain…**

It was a rainy night, the darkness, so heavy and cold, broken only by brief flashes of electricity, the hiss of the rain disrupted by the shattering of thunder. It was by no means to be considered a lovely night but to her, only to her, it was.

The weather seemed to be in tune with her emotions; it made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. The tears fell like the rain she was staring out at down her cheeks, steady droplets of salt that burned and blurred the darkness to her. Her heart cracked with the thunder, pounded so desperately with it, her thoughts as lethal as the lightning until she was it, flying across the lands wrecking chaos and showering her pain, little droplets that as a whole equaled something so immense it soaked through everyone and anyone.

Everyone but _him_.

Did he not feel her pain? Did he not notice the tears that constantly stained her face, whether they be dry or fresh? He never said anything, he never did anything. He was immune to her, oblivious to her plights of pain and constant hope to understand him, to understand anything about her. He was withdrawn, and she feared he always would be; there was nothing to crack the surface of his anger, nothing to be used to save him from the void of his despair.

Her heart had simply not been enough.

She had given it to him freely, without any form of resentment, and had hoped, and prayed, that he would protect it. Instead he had only destroyed it. Piece by piece he had hacked away at it, the razor he had used on so many innocents, used to spill so much blood, sinking into it slowly but surely, until she was left broken, crushed, and bleeding internally. And the worst part was that she just could not die from it. No matter how far he twisted in that razor, it still was not enough to end her miserable life; it couldn't be, not so long as that razor was not physically real. And God, sometimes she really wished it was.

But that was no matter now—she'd do it herself. She did not need his help in ending her life; he had already done so, she was just finishing his task, sparing herself from any more torture.

This rainy night was the perfect night to die.

She had the kitchen knife in her hand, stood before the window that overlooked Fleet Street. She'd die with the final look of dreary London in her eyes and Sweeney Todd in her heart.

She knew that what she was doing was extreme, but she had always been an extreme person. Mrs. Lovett could not see what there was to live for anymore, when the love of her life did not so much as glance at her. She was just a worker to him, an accomplice, a baker—never Nellie Lovett. By dying, she would not be missed, not by anyone but Toby, and he was old enough now to do fine on his own. He'd run her shop, and soon everyone would forget about poor ole Mrs. Lovett—especially Sweeney Todd.

She was still crying as she lifted the blade, watched it catch the light. So beautiful, even though it was so deadly… She supposed that that was what drew Mr. Todd to his razors, that alluring, lethal light, the light of a deceptive Heaven. Oh yes, she wouldn't be going to Heaven; there was no room there for someone like her, a killer—however indirect—who made her customers into cannibals. Yes, she was a beast, a devil incarnate, and she accepted that. She had done it all for Mr. Sweeney after all. _Only_ for him…

The door behind her banged open just as she lowered the blade to her chest, and as the tip pierced her chest, so close to the heart (literally) of her pain, her dark deed was intercepted. The blade was ripped from her hands, stained only slightly with her blood, and tossed across the room, her shoulders being grabbed lightly and shook. She recoiled, shocked, her teary eyes closing as she allowed her body to be moved by rough hands, the hands of the devil. Manipulated by him, the devil himself…

"You stupid woman!" Sweeney Todd growled down at her, shaking her more forcefully until her entire body moved. She did not open her eyes, the small wound she had inflicted in her chest beginning to bleed, the blood running down and warming her frozen body. She only sighed lightly through parted lips, and infuriated Sweeney even more.

"You imbecile, do you know what you almost did?! You could have died!?" He shouted in her face, his hot breath dancing across her face like flames. She almost felt the urge to smile at that. Of course she had known what she was doing, of course she had known her intention—she herself had done it after all. If she had been stronger she would have told Mr. Todd that, but she was weak, had always been. The blood flowing freely from her was draining her, and she wobbled slightly, falling into Sweeney's chest, oblivious to the way he tensed and inhaled sharply.

She felt like she was floating as he picked her up, almost in a gentle way, and set her down in one of her shop's booths. She fell back against the cold leather with a shiver, lost in a haze as she listened to him leave the room, rummage around. She didn't know what he was doing, but she did not care—he could do anything to her, so long as she lived. But even in death she had no doubt that he'd be there, standing beside the Devil himself…

She let him tear her top off to expose the wound, a neat slice that went through her thin white chemise that was stained with red, that vibrant color he loved. But he did not seem to love it now. In fact, he seemed to hate it now; his hands were tense as he pressed a cloth to the wound, tried to slow the blood. The cut was not too deep that stitches were needed, but she almost wished they were; she was intoxicated by his close proximity, drunk off of him. She kept her eyes closed to the expression of revulsion she was sure he held on his darkly handsome face.

"Dammit woman, why the hell would you do this?" he muttered to her darkly, and she lifted her shoulder in a half hearted shrug.

"There was nothing left to live for…" she whispered back weakly, and she heard, and felt, his anger.

"What the hell do you mean? Of course there is! You've got the shop and Toby and…and…"

She began to laugh then, a bitter sound that hurt her more than helped her, and had him flinching away from her slightly. He did not realize; why should he? Mrs. Lovett was of no concern to him, so long as she kept her little mouth shut about his 'customers'. It was the final stab to her bleeding heart, and it couldn't have been any better.

"That's just it Mr. Todd; I have everyone but _you_…"

She heard him inhale sharply, exhale heavily. The cloth left her chest, and she was sure that he would leave her, make some rude comment and stomp back off back up to his lair, leaving her to finish her previous act in peace, leaving her to sink into the leather booth and never return.

But he didn't. He stayed; she could feel him breathing next to her his breath the only sign of life that let her know he really was real, he really was human. A second passed, a pained heartbeat of anticipation and dread. What did he possibly have to say?

"Mrs. Lovett, look at me."

She couldn't; she was not strong enough. She stayed in the darkness behind her eyelids, where she was safe and at peace. But he insisted.

"Mrs. Lovett—Nellie—look at me."

Nellie. Her heart skipped a beat. He had never called her that before, never. She was surprised that he even knew her first name; she had never really told him except for when he had been Benjamin Barker. Had he really remembered all this time…? She did not dare to hope.

"Please Nellie…"

She was breaking, bit by bit, that final stab to her heart twisting, plunging in deeper and deeper. Her eyes opened without her permission, her body at his command, her mind shocked by the word 'please' coming from his lips.

And there he was, all in his dark beauty, right in front of her, eyes as dark as the night. She felt her tears boil over again, and did not mind. She watched him stare at her tears, watched him watch them trail down her face in curved streaks, following the bones of her delicate face, so pale and hollow.

"Nellie…" he whispered, and in the dark she could not decipher his expression, did not wish to his. His eyes bore into hers, only they lacked the flames they normally held; in fact, they appeared to be smoldering at her, an emotion she could not understand caught in their depths.

"Nellie, do not be so foolish as to believe that." She blinked at him slowly, lethargically processing his words. She stared at him, unable to show her confusion, unable to move her lips to form a response. Did she even have a response?

He answered for her.

In an instant his lips, so rough and surprisingly warm, were on hers, washing away the blood on her heart, stopping the cracked thunder she heard pounding in her head. She did not let herself think, only responded, leaning into Sweeney Todd and stealing this one moment he had to offer, this one moment of weakness for him and strength for her. Her heart began to reform as his began to break, her tears drying as somewhere deep inside of her the sun emerged and dried them.

When he suddenly jerked away from her, she let him, falling back in her seat with her eyes still closed, her breathing ragged and heart beating madly. She recalled all of it even after it had ended; his lip, his warmth, his scent, and buried herself in it, her figurative grave. She had thought he had left, but again he surprised her, and she did not resist as he grabbed her thin frame back up in his arms and carried her through her house to her little bedroom in the back.

Her bed was soft and tempting as she fell into it, but not nearly as wonderful as her heart was feeling. She was breathing again, no matter how raggedly, and she felt alive for the first time in months, all thanks to the devil of a man lying next to her. He still had not left.

Perhaps he was there to only watch out for her wound, but she chose not to believe that. The way his arm, so warm and strong, pulled her to him and held on told her that could not be that case—it was something more. There was something always more to Sweeney Todd, and there always would be, even if she did not understand it.

As unconsciousness finally tugged at her spent body and worn mind, she listened to the pounding of his heart in her ear and knew only one thing, and one thing only about Sweeney Todd that she could always count on:

He would always be there to stop that final stab.

**Review please! Sorry if this was too dark for your tastes, I kind of just wrote it. **


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